


Stretched

by cassykay



Category: Stitchers (TV)
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-02 17:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5257394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassykay/pseuds/cassykay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place after the season 1 finale. The story of how Cameron and Kirsten really get together. Not sure how many chapters it will be. It will be alternating POVs!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Cameron**

I feel like I should be more alarmed but really I just feel tired.  
“Hello?” I call, shifting under the blankets and trying to get a good look at whoever has broken into my room. It is pointless really. It is too dark and I am just too blind.  
“It’s me.” A voice whispers, opening and closing a few drawers. My heart rate speeds up. If it had been anyone else I would have reprimanded them for just assuming I would know who it was but I _do_ know.  
“What are you doing here, Kirsten?” I mumble, fighting a yawn. She doesn’t answer, instead she simply peels back the covers and climbs into bed next to me.  
“Can I just stay here?” She asks even though she is already making herself comfortable, cuddling against my side. I wrap my arm around her hesitantly so she could situate herself against my chest like she had on Halloween.  
“I mean I guess.” I reason, trying hard not to flinch in surprise when she starts rubbing her hand over my heart. “Do you want to talk?” She shakes her head against my chest.  
“Just…sleep.” She sighs, sounding relieved.  
———  
I wake the next morning to an insistent buzzing sound. I sneak a quick peak down at Kirsten and am glad she can’t see the smile on my face. I know I look too dopey for my own good. I reach towards the nightstand table and find the phone.  
“Hello?” I answer groggily.  
“There you are.” Maggie’s annoyed voice replies, but I can hear a bit of relief in it as well. “I’ve been trying to reach you for the past hour. We have a new sample.”  
“Can’t we have a few more minutes.” I groan, not only am I not ready to let go of Kirsten, I’m just not ready to get up and start the day.  
“We?” Maggie echoes.  
“ _I_ …can’t _I_ have a few more minutes.” I correct, jamming the phone between my ear and shoulder and fumbling for my glasses. Once they are on my face, I check the clock. “Maggie! It’s only 7:30.”  
“Unfortunately, murder doesn’t run on your sleep schedule.” She responds dryly. “Now you wouldn’t happen to know where our blonde cat lady is, do you? Camille says she can’t seem to locate her.”  
“Oh…uh…well I’m sure I can find her.” I lament, wondering if Maggie really knows that Kirsten is pressed up against my side at that very moment.  
“Good.” She responds. “I’ll see you both soon.” Maggie never says goodbye on a phone call. Every time I had been on the phone with her, I was always left holding the phone after she had already hung up.  
“Kirsten.” I mumble, running my hand up and down her arm. “You’ve got to get up, we have a body.”  
“Five more minutes.” She grumbles, burying her face against my neck.  
“Okay, it’s been five minutes.” I try. She pulls back from me, propping her chin up against my chest so that she can glare at me.  
“You’re totally lying.” She accuses.  
“Well I guess you’ll never know.” I smile. She rolls away from me with a huff. “Oh, come on, Princess. I’ll make you breakfast.” I get out of bed, pulling on a pair of discarded sweatpants over my boxers and a t-shit. I head towards the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out ingredients for omelets.  
“I haven’t been completely honest with you.” Kirsten says, startling me. I spin around, surprised that she’s already out of bed and has followed me in here. All she’s wearing is one of my t-shirts and I have to make a conscious effect to not stare at her long legs.  
“What do you mean?” I ask, turning my attention away from her and her legs, cracking eggs into a mixing bowl.  
“I just…you died…” She starts. I stop my task immediately and turn back around to face her.  
It has been three weeks since I 'died' and Kirsten has made it very clear that she doesn’t want to talk about it. I had woken up only hours after my heart had stopped and, by all medical definition, had been fine. Ayo had kept me under strict observation for three days but had finally deemed me well enough to go back to work and back to my apartment. During those three days Kirsten had barely left my side but she hadn’t exactly been overly friendly. In fact, she had barely spoken to me. She had refused to discuss the fact that I had died or anything she had seen in my mind. And I had to let it go because I still wanted, more than anything, to be in her life.  
“Stretch…I’m sorry, I know-”  
“No, I…it just hurts.” Kirsten explains, looking like she is fighting for the correct words to describe what she is feeling.  
“What hurts?” I step away from the counter completely and takes a few steps closer to her.  
“I…well…” She trails off, fidgeting with the hem of the t-shirt. “I told you that I’ve been able to feel my emotions better since I stitched into you. Well not better…it’s just like the volume is turned up on them and…there’s some that I don’t understand or that I can’t identify…” She trails off. “I’m sorry, this is dumb, I’m going to go get dressed.” Kirsten spins around and starts to make her way back to the bedroom.  
“Woah, woah.” I call, catching up and grabbing her hand, turning her around to face me. “It’s not dumb. I told you I wanted you to talk through the emotions you feel after stitching so that I can help. Just because I was the sample doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t talk to me. Let me help you Kirsten. All I’ve wanted these past three weeks is to help.”  
“It hurts to be around you.” She blurts and looks like she instantly regrets it. I try to process what that means but I know I look crushed.  
“Oh…I…” I trail off, starting to move away from her.  
“No!” She holds a tight grip on my hand when I try to pull it away and instead laces our fingers together. “You…died, Cameron. And I was scared and panicked and screaming. God, Cameron, I was screaming.” She strokes my hand with her thumb absentmindedly. “I went back and watched the tape from that day in the lab. I didn’t even realize I was screaming but everyone else could hear me. Ayo had to sedate me to get me to stop. But, I look at you sometimes and it just hurts to be around you because I remember those feelings of being panicked and scared and I can hear myself screaming on that tape and I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”  
I don’t know what to say but I know I hate myself.  
“You were dead for five minutes and, for someone with temporal dysplasia, that's a lifetime. I didn’t like how the world felt without you in it and sometimes when I see you, it feels like you’re dead and I’m screaming and everyone else can hear it but me.”  
“I’m so sorry.” I mutter.  
“It’s not…all the time.” She explains slowly. “I feel warm and happy around you but I feel sad too and I don’t know how to fix it.”  
“I don’t…do you want me to never see or talk to you again?” I don’t think I can do it but if it is what she wants…  
“No!” She gasps pulling herself closer to me and our joined hands between us. “Just because it hurts doesn’t mean I don’t want to be near you. I have all these emotions and a lot of them are new to me but you’re still the person who knows me best and the person I want to see everyday.”  
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Kirsten. You can’t just tell me it hurts to look at me and be near me and expect me to just make you breakfast and go to work with you like nothing happened.”  
“I can’t help what I’m feeling.” She snaps, but she doesn’t look angry. “And I didn’t say it hurt to be near you, this helps actually.”  
“This?”  
“Being close to you helps. Hearing your heartbeat…holding your hand…” Kirsten trails off, glancing up at me. “I know you’re alright, okay? I know you’re here and alive but it hurt watching you die and it hasn’t gone away. I can still feel it.”  
“O-okay.” I stutter in surprise at her confession. “Well you can talk to me about this. You don’t have to give me the cold shoulder. I want to help. And…” I swallow uncomfortably. “…well, you can listen to my heartbeat or hold my hand whenever you want.”  
“Yeah?” Kirsten questions, squeezing my hand a little tighter. “And can I have extra cheese in my omelet?” I let out a breath I had been holding.  
“Sure.” I give her a real smile and let her drop my hand to head back to the bedroom. A few minutes later she is back in the jeans and tank top she must have worn to my place earlier. She leans her head passively against my bare arm and glances up at me while I flip her omelette in the pan.  
“I used your toothbrush, I hope you don’t mind.” She informs me.  
“Of course you did.” I sigh, pulling away from her to grab a plate to put her omelette on.  
“Is there extra cheese in that?” She asks suspiciously.  
“Yes, Kirsten.”  
———  
We drive in silence on the way to the lab and I can never tell if that’s normal with Kirsten or not. She zones out so often while in the car that it’s hard to tell if she doesn’t want to speak to you or if she doesn’t realize we’ve been driving for almost fifteen minutes in silence. I pull into the parking garage across from the Chinese restaurant and park the car in my usual spot.  
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you with what I said.” Kirsten says as we climb out of the car.  
“I know you weren’t.” I promise her and I know I mean that. Kirsten wasn’t trying to hurt me, she was just trying to do what I always encouraged her to do: explain her feelings. “We’re good.”  
“Okay.” She sighs, coming to meet me around the front of the car and grabbing my hand without any hesitation, entwining our fingers together. “Good.”  
The thing with Kirsten is that she can’t just hold my hand and walk next to me. She feels the need to drag me with her and whenever I speed up to try and match her pace, she would too. But she seems more upbeat, as upbeat as Kirsten ever is, than she has in weeks so I decide that if it makes her happy to drag me around like a puppy, I probably should just let her.  
“Thank you for showing up.” Maggie states as Kirsten drags me into the conference room.  
“Well now that Stretch and Whipped have graced us with their presence, I can begin.” Camille says cheerfully, her eyes locked on our joined hands. Kirsten rolls her eyes and I focus on not turning red. She pushes her chair back and stands up. “The victim is Lindsey Walsh, twenty-six year old secretary at a fancy law firm downtown to one of the firm’s partners. She’s been working there for a little over a year. No family in the area, very few friends. She was found stabbed to death in the office early this morning by the cleaning crew. Coincidently, the security cameras were turned off sometime yesterday afternoon.”  
“The reason I called you all so early is because we think we will only be able to get one stitch out of Miss. Walsh. She's degrading too quickly.” Maggie explains.  
“Well if she’s degrading too quickly then Kirsten shouldn’t be stitching-” I start, leaning forward and squeezing her hand from under the table a little.  
“We’re confident that there will be no risk to Kirsten and that her memories won’t collapse for at least a few hours.” Maggie assures me. I glance over at Kirsten and she shrugs.  
“I’ll go get changed.” She states, pulling her hand from mine and walking out of the room, towards the lockers.  
“That’s really so adorable how nervous you get.” Camille says. “Would you get that nervous about me, Linus?”  
“Of course.” He responds quickly. It looks like Linus has said the right thing for once because Camille perks up and smiles happily.  
“Aren’t they both just so cute?” She asks Maggie.  
“Adorable.” She responds flatly, “Cameron get your lab ready.”


	2. Two

**Kirsten**

I go over the stitch in my head again.  
_And again._  
_And again._  
_And-_  
“Kirsten?” Cameron asks. He’s sitting on the opposite end of the couch as me. I have the urge to lean against his chest or at the very least sit shoulder to shoulder with him but I stay where I am. “You okay?”  
“I’m fine.” I snap, harsher than I mean to. I notice my right foot is tapping violently against the couch cushion where it’s resting, shaking the couch. “I’m fine.” I repeat, calmer, stopping my foot. “I’m just mad I can’t stitch in again and that I didn’t see anything of any use.”  
“That’s not true.” He assures me, tentatively resting his left hand over my sock clad feet. “I believe you that she didn’t kill herself and Fisher’s going to question everyone in Lindsey’s life but…she may have killed herself, Kirsten, and you have to prepare yourself for that.” I close my eyes and rewind to stitching twelve hours before.  
I see flashes of Lindsey Walsh and her boss, Brandon Young. They are in love. They _were_ in love. That was the first thing I saw when I stitched in. I saw how happy they were and then I felt the sadness when she broke up with him because of the strict no dating rule at their firm. It was a soul crushing pain that surprised me because, if you loved someone, why would you stay away from them? The next few flashes of memory had that overwhelming sadness in them that felt like they were crushing me or Lindsey or both of us. I wasn’t sure. They were hazy, like she was half asleep or had been drunk. Flashes of Lindsey sitting by herself on her couch, flashes of her ignoring Brandon at work, flashes of her sitting across from the other executive assistant, Matthew, and simply staring at the computer screen. I let out a long sigh and opened my eyes.  
“Lindsey did not want to die.” I promise Cameron.  
“Okay.” I placates me, giving my feet a squeeze. That’s enough for me. I pull my feet out of his grasp and climb to his side of the couch. I prop myself against his chest and he wraps an arm around me. “If you decide you want to talk about-”  
“I was just sad before I stitched into her.” I start, before he’s even finished speaking. “And Lindsey was so sad in most of her recent memories and so now I’m just extra sad.”  
“I’m sorry, Kirsten.” He sighs, “Maybe you should take a break from stitching for a little while, maybe you should-”  
“No!” I gasp, pulling back from his chest a little so I can look at him. “I have to stitch, Cameron, otherwise all these killers will just roam free and the victims families won’t have closure.” He’s insane to suggest I don’t stitch. _There is no one else to do my job._  
“Kirsten, it is not your job to save everyone. If it’s too much then you can take a break and no one will have a problem with that.” He says. He shifts so he can glance down at me. He must see my skeptical expression. “Okay, so maybe there are some higher ups that would have a problem with that.”  
“I’m okay, I feel better already.” I admit. And I did. I didn’t feel quite as sad pressed up against Cameron’s side. I shut my eyes again and rewind to the only semi-valuable information I gathered from the stitch.  
Lindsey is walking through the office and she feels nervous and relieved and there is no more crushing sadness. It flashes again to her standing in front of Brandon’s desk. It’s late at night, no one else is in the office. She writes ‘I’m sorry’ in looping cursive on a post-it note. And she’s standing at the window overlooking the city and smiling. And the next part only lasts a few seconds. I slow it down. She’s standing there and the envelope opener is stabbing into the front of her. First her stomach and then her rib and then her chest. I can feel the cool handle of the envelope opener in her hands and the pressure surrounding her. I know Lindsey was the one holding it while it stabbed into her but I also know that feeling of surprised panic she felt when the first stab of the letter opener went through her.  
Her hands were on it but she didn’t want to do it. She didn’t kill herself.  
“She didn’t want to die.” I tell Cameron again. “I know she didn’t. She was relieved about the note she wrote and she was content after that while she stared out at the city.”  
“Maybe she stabbed herself and then regretted it?” Cameron suggests, tracing circles on my arm while continuing to scroll through Lindsey’s social media pages, looking for something.  
“If she only stabbed herself once I could say that but she was stabbed three times, she didn’t want to do it. There’s no way she killed herself.” I insist.  
The last bit of the memory is all hazy as Lindsey bled out and there’s just this buzzing sound in the background. That’s when her memories started to really collapse and I quickly typed in _‘iheartlinus’_ before Cameron had a heart attack.  
“Like I said, Stretch, I believe you.” He starts. I glance up at him, knowing there’s more. “But, the M.E. report shows that the wounds are at the angle where Lindsey was inflicting them on herself. There are no other prints on the weapon and the police believe the ‘I’m sorry’ post it note is a really unspecific suicide note.”  
“I know.” I admit. “But I still say she didn’t kill herself.”  
“Okay, we’re not getting any more work done and I’m exhausted, _someone_ woke me up last night.” He gives me a teasing accusatory glare. “What do you say we call it a night and grab some dinner?”  
“Speaking of last night…” I start, biting my lip. “Do you think I could stay at your place again tonight?” He looks a little surprised.  
“Of course you can stay.” He finally says, getting up and starting to pack up his things. “What do you want for dinner?”  
“Pancakes.” I decide.  
“That can be arranged.”  
———  
**Cameron**

“Do you, uh, want me to sleep on the couch?” I ask, bouncing from foot to foot uncomfortably. I didn’t want to assume she wanted me in bed with her again.  
“Uh, no?” She questions back, climbing into my bed. And, god, she is going to be the death of me. She’s dressed, like the night before, in just a t-shirt of mine. The hem shifts when she moves, revealing her boy short underwear underneath. I had offered her pants or boxers but she had declined. “Why would you sleep on the couch?”  
“Well I didn't know if maybe you didn’t want my company, just my comfortable bed.” I smile, willing myself to pretend this is natural and happens all the time. _Of course hot blondes with no pants ask to sleep in my bed with me all the time._ I climb into the bed next to her and, like the night before, she cuddles up against my side, resting her head against my chest.  
“Your bed is very comfortable but if I wanted to sleep by myself I could do that at my house.” She explains. Damn, she was _actually_ going to be the death of me.  
“And you want my company to…what? Help with the hurt?” I ask, needing some type of answer from her to justify and explain her behavior.  
“Something like that.” She mumbles into my neck. I’m so selfish, I know I am, but I can’t find it in me to care. She’s told me she’s hurt and sad. I know she’s come to me for comfort but I am elated at being able to hold her against me or that her fingers seemed to find my mine whenever we were in proximity to each other today. I’m selfishly happy that she chose me. Granted she didn’t have many options but she wasn't climbing into Camille’s bed or entrusting Linus with her thoughts and feelings.  
I don’t remember falling asleep but I wake up early and Kirsten’s no longer pressed against my side.  
“Kirsten?” I mumble, wondering if she’s simply decided sleeping against my chest isn’t as comfortable as it was last night. I find my glasses and put them on my face. The clock reads that it’s 5:11, way too early to get up when we don’t have to be to work until 8:30. It’s still dark outside but I can see a sliver of light from just under my bedroom door. I get out of bed, yawning, and go to investigate. Kirsten’s sitting at one of the bar stools and hunched over a tablet with papers surrounding her. “Watcha doing?” I ask, picking up one of the papers that had fallen onto the floor. It’s a picture of Lindsay’s body laying on the ground of the office at the crime scene.  
“Did I wake you?” She asks, glancing over at me.  
“You need to stop obsessing about this.” I sigh putting the photo back down on the counter. I drape my arms around her shoulders and lean down to look at the tablet. She’s going over the M.E. report, again.  
“I couldn’t sleep.” She sighs, but leans back into my embrace a little bit. “I realized I was looking at this too broadly, insisting that Lindsey didn’t kill herself. I have the break this down. If she didn’t kill herself which, by the way, she didn’t, then how did the stab wounds get to be at the angle where it looks like she did?  
“Do you have any theories?” I ask.  
“No.” She responds, sounding frustrated. “But, you know what’s odd? The paper opener only has her prints on it but it wasn’t hers. The police confirmed that the envelope opener belonged to Brandon Young but his prints are no where on it. It’s almost like—”  
“—Like it was wiped clean and then placed back in her hands to get her prints.” I finish. “But that still doesn’t explain the stab wounds.” We stay like that for a few more minutes, her scrolling through the report and me reading over her shoulder.  
“I need to go to the crime scene and see the office myself.” She finally states, reaching up and stroking my wrist.  
“Can we please go back to bed?” I ask. “You can’t get into the office now anyway.”  
“I suppose.” She finally agrees. Her hand freezes. “Oh my god.”  
“What?” I ask, starting to pull away. “No.” She locks her hand around my wrist keeping me in place. “Cameron, you’re a genius.” She lets go of my wrist and spins around to give me a hug.  
“Uh, thanks?” I question, but not needing to be told twice to wrap my arms back around her.  
“Let’s go back to bed, it’s way too early for this.” She proclaims. I fall asleep almost immediately as soon as my arm is back around Kirsten under the covers. I don’t wake up again until my alarm goes off at 7:15. I feel tired. I’m not used to my sleep schedule being interrupted by blonde girls who go bump in the night. Kirsten rolls away from me and get’s up, stretching her long arms in the air.  
“Come on, Cameron, get ready. We need to go to my house first so I can shower and change.” She says. I get up and yawn.  
“Just give me a few minutes to shower and get dressed.” I say. She patters out of my bedroom and into the kitchen. A few seconds later I hear the sound of my espresso machine turning on. I take a quick shower and pull on jeans and a red button up shirt. When I walk into my kitchen, Kirsten’s still not dressed but she’s pushed aside all her papers and is attempting to cut up a papaya without getting the seeds everywhere. There is already bananas, goji berries, and what looks like milk in the blender. “Whatcha doing, Stretch?”  
“I’m trying to make a fruit smoothie because, FYI they are way better than your gross veggie smoothies.” She explains, sounding very frustrated. She manages to cut off a piece of the papaya and tosses it in. “Also how much acai powder is too much acai powder because I may have put way too much in.”  
“I’m sure it will be great.” I try to hold back my amused laugh. “This is very domestic of you.” I comment. “Have you ever even used a blender before?”  
“Haha.” She responds, giving up on the papaya and putting the cap on the blender. “I _broke_ a blender once if that counts.” She says loudly over the blending sound. It only takes thirty seconds for the fruit and milk to blend together. She finishes and pulls two glasses out of the cabinet. She fills them each and passes me one. We both take a sip. She starts coughing.  
“Way too much acai powder.” She coughs again.  
“Actually this could be way worse. It’s not that bad.” I compliment.  
“Gee, thanks.” She responds sarcastically. “I’m never doing anything nice for you ever again.”  
“You mean you’re never going to make a huge mess of my kitchen ever again?” I ask in mock hurt. She rolls her eyes but puts the blender, cutting board, and knives in the sink, running water over them. I decide I can leave them there for the day just this once.  
“You ready to go?” She asks.  
“Yeah, but are you?” I question. “Have you decided not to wear pants?” She glances down at her legs as if realizing for the first time that she’s not wearing any.  
“Huh, probably should.” She shrugs. She comes back out of my room a few minutes later with her jeans on. She’s still wearing my t-shirt but she’s added a flannel of mine on top. She puts her sneakers on.  
Lucky for me, Camille isn’t at the house when we get there. I don’t need to give her more reasons to taunt me or a closed room with just the two of us where she can make fun of Kirsten and mines not-relationship.  
“I’ll just be a few minutes, you can hang in my room.” Kirsten says. She comes out of the bathroom ten minutes later dressed in a new pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. She’s brushing her teeth and her hair is still wet, dripping water down her arms, She simply watches me from where I lay on her bed, tossing the stupid crystal I had given her up and down, catching it each time. _‘For your heart’_ I had told her. God, she probably thought I sounded so stupid. But it had been sitting right on her nightstand when I walked into her room so I took it as a sign that she didn’t totally hate it.  
“Hey, isn’t using your own toothbrush so nice?” I ask. She rolls her eyes but turns to go back into her bathroom. I hear her spit out the toothpaste.  
“I like yours better.” She calls and I roll my eyes. She comes back out a minute later.  
“You know, if you want to stay over again, you can just pack a bag.” I offer. For a second I’m worried that what I’ve suggested is inappropriate but then her face lights up.  
“Really?” She asks, already taking a bag out of her closet.  
“Sure, I mean it will just save us time in the morning, right?” I answer, trying to play it off as cool. The truth was, I’ve never lived with a girl or had a girl stay at my apartment for any length of time. My first and only girlfriend during college had stayed in my dorm room a few times but that was completely different. I sit up just as she puts the plastic cap on her toothbrush and tosses it on top in her bag.  
“Ready for work?” She asks. “Because I’ve solved the case and I can’t wait to rub it in everyone’s faces.” I had forgotten her moment of clarity early this morning that she hadn’t felt necessary to share with me. It takes us almost a half hour with traffic to get to the lab and Kirsten is once again completely silent, just staring out the window. I know if I were to talk to her she would respond but she seems so content just sitting there. She's turning the crystal she had promptly taken from me before we left her house over and over in her hands and looks happy so I decide not to interrupt her.  
She jumps a little when I pull into my parking space as if she’s confused how we suddenly arrived. And then she’s pulling me across the street, through the Chinese restaurant, and into the elevator to the lab. The door opens to the lab and the first thing I spot is both Camille and Linus leaning up against Linus’s desk. Maggie is standing in front of them, her arms crossed. Linus looks like he keeps trying to interrupt but Maggie is having none of it.  
“Lindsey didn’t kill herself!” Kirsten announces, promptly dropping my hand and grabbing a pen out of Tim’s. He had been sitting at his desk doing a crossword puzzle and looks up angry at whoever took the pen but doesn’t say anything.  
“Kirsten, if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, it’s a mother-fucking duck.” Camille rolls her eyes. Kirsten pauses and gives Camille a once over. Camille is dressed in a borderline slutty school girl outfit: A plaid skirt that would be inappropriate if it were any shorter, a button up shirt untucked with the top two buttons undone and a sweater tied around her waist. She also has on a pair of black heels.  
“Lindsey didn’t have a pet duck.” She responds evenly. “Anyway, I can prove Lindsey didn’t stab herself. Cameron come put your arms around me.”  
“What?” I squeak, doing the exact opposite and taking a big step away from her.  
“Like you did this morning.” She explains impatiently. I can feel my face turning bright red.  
“Yeah, Cameron, _like you did this morning_.” Camille taunts. Kirsten ignores her and continues to stare expectantly at me. I walk slowly back over to her and stiffly drape my arms over her shoulders.  
“Okay, now put this in your right hand and hold it like a knife.” She explains, handing me Tim’s pen. “Now clasp both hands around it.” I do as she says. She grabs the bottom part of the pen right below my hands. “Someone came up behind Lindsey while she was staring out the window and stabbed her first in the stomach like _this_.” She moves our hands and the pen so that the tip is resting against her stomach. “Lindsey grabs the hilt of the knife as they pull it out, she’s in shock and doesn’t realize what’s happening until they stab a second time between her ribs.” She moves our hands so that the pen is now resting between her ribs. “And then she struggles to pull the knife out and before she can get away, they stab her in the heart." She moves the tip of the pen to rest right over her heart. "They move and she falls to the ground where she bleeds out in Brandon Young’s office. They wipe the knife down and move her fingers to touch it so that she’s the only one whose finger prints are on the weapon.”  
It _is_ a plausible explanation for the angle of the knife pointing towards suicide and even Camille looks thoughtful as if considering Kirsten’s story. I pull my arms from back around her and toss Tim his pen. He catches it and gives me a nod.  
“That isn’t proof, Kirsten, that’s just a theory.” Maggie sighs. “But if you really believe she was killed, go see Fisher. Brandon Young was just brought in for questioning this morning, they couldn’t get ahold of him last night. You and Cameron can do your little performance for him and see if he buys it.” Maggie hasn’t even finished speaking and she’s already got my hand in a vice grip again, pulling me back towards the elevator.  
“Bye guys!” Linus calls.  
“Nice to see you both!” Camille adds and I can hear them laughing. I swear it’s at me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Kirsten**

I know I’m right. I suppose that is a flaw of mine. I always act as though I am right and, most of the time I am, but a lot of times there’s that little nagging voice in the back of my head telling me I could be wrong and to slow the hell down.  
But I _know_ I’m right about Lindsey.  
When we reach the police station, Fisher is just walking out of an interrogation room.  
“Well if it isn’t my two favorite stitchers.” Fisher greets.  
“Aw, your favorite?” Cameron asks.  
“Well, the bar is pretty low…” He trails off but he’s smiling happily.  
“I thought you were supposed to have two more weeks of recovery time?” I ask suspiciously, giving him a once over. He looks physically fine, not like the man who was the ground with two gun shot wounds only a month before.  
“Eh, I’m fine.” He shrugs. “I was getting bored just sitting at home. I’m still doing limited field work but they're letting me sit behind the desk.”  
“Anyway, Lindsey didn’t kill herself.” I start. “She—”  
“Yeah, I know.” Fisher interrupts, shrugging and pushing past us to the room connected to the interrogation room.  
“Wait, you know?” I ask, pulling Cameron with me and following Fisher into the room.  
“Yeah, the medical examiner got back to me this morning. She confirmed that the stab wounds had too much force behind them to be from the victim.” He comments, turning to face the window. I pause and examine the man sitting in the interrogation chair. It’s Brandon Young. He looks miserable and my heart aches for him. I reach my free hand up and place it against the glass.  
“Why are you interrogating him?” I ask.  
“Young and Walsh were having an affair, the theory we’re working with is that she wanted more and he killed her.” Fisher shrugs.  
“What?” I gasp. “Brandon did _not_ kill Lindsey, he never would have done that!” Cameron gives my hand a squeeze. “Let me talk to him.”  
“Absolutely not.” Fisher says. “Besides, he’s not talking anyway. He’s waiting for his lawyer to get here. He knows we don’t have any evidence against him…yet.”  
“I can get him to talk to me.” I assure Fisher. “He’s a lawyer, he’s smart. If you want anything out of him, I can get it. I swear.” Fisher glances at Cameron as if he is the judge of if I should be trusted in the interrogation room or not.  
“If she says she can do it…” Cameron trails off, shrugging.  
“You have five minutes, Kirsten, and so help me god if you screw up I will have you banned from the precinct.” Fisher threatens. I breathe out a sigh in relief and drop Cameron’s hand, heading for door. “And no talking about the program, we know how much you like to blab about it.” I roll my eyes at him but leave the viewing gallery and enter in the door to the right. Brandon looks up.  
“Listen, I don’t know who you are but I told the other guy I’m not saying anything until my lawyer gets here.” He says, crossing his arms and staring off towards the mirrored glass window. I follow his gaze but can just see our reflections. Knowing Cameron is right on the other side of the glass makes me feel better though.  
“My name’s Kirsten, I’m a consultant with the LAPD.” I explain, taking a seat in front of Brandon and drawing his gaze away from the window. “I know you’re innocent and I want you to help me figure out who did this to Lindsey. Because you and I both know she wasn’t suicidal and there’s no way she did this to herself.” Brandon leans forward dramatically for a second.  
“I know she didn’t kill herself. Lindsey loved life she would never—” He pauses and leans back. “We can talk when my lawyer get’s here.”  
“How about I talk and tell you what I know and you can tell me if I’m right or not?” I suggest, leaning back in the chair and getting comfortable. Brandon doesn’t say anything but he eyes me suspiciously. “You loved Lindsey and Lindsey loved you.”  
“Yes.”  
“And she was one of your secretaries.” I continue.  
“Yes.”  
“But she broke up with you.” I whisper, feeling Lindsey’s sadness and regret all over again. Brandon nods his head. “Was it because of your family? Or the company? Of did something happen?” I ask, feeling the need to understand why Lindsey put herself through the pain and misery I felt so clearly in her memories.  
“The company has a very strict no dating policy.” Brandon explained stiffly. “I wanted her to quit and get a job somewhere else so that we could be together openly and she didn’t want that.”  
“Of course she did.” I burst out. “Of course she wanted to be with you she just—” There is a sharp bang on the window, causing both of us to jump in surprise. I glance back at the window and although I can’t see anyone, I know Fisher is warning me not to say too much. “I mean, talking to other coworkers and people in her life, they all described her as being extremely sad over the last three weeks. Three weeks ago is when you broke up, yes?”  
“Yes, it was three weeks ago.” Brandon sighs, leaning his elbows on the table and cradling his head in his hands. “I know I’d only known her for six months but, god, I wanted to marry her. She was… _perfect_ and I can’t believe she’s just gone.”  
“Why did she go to your office that night?” I ask.  
“Honestly I have no idea. She knew I wouldn’t be there. I had a dinner in Santa Monica with a client. She’s the one who made the reservation for it.” Brandon explains, pulling away from his hands. For the first time I can see the grief on his face and just how sad he really is. I’m shocked and a little mad at myself that I feel like I can relate to this. Grief is what I felt when Cameron died, what I still feel when I look at him sometimes, but it’s incredibly selfish of me to feel like I relate when Cameron is perfectly fine in the next room and Lindsey is dead.  
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” I mumble, taking his hand. He stares at me for a few seconds before he bursts into tears. I sit rigidly in my chair, unsure what to do but I feel moisture pooling in my eyes even before Fisher opens the door and ushers me out, telling Brandon his lawyer would be there shortly.  
“Was that _empathy_ I saw from the emotionless Kirsten Clark?” Fisher asks, seeming oblivious to my sudden burst of emotion or the tears in my eyes.  
“Come here.” Cameron sighs, wrapping his arms around me as I wipe furiously at my cheeks. Of course he notices the change in my behavior right away.  
“It’s just residual emotion.” I insist, my voice quaking with the effort I’m exerting to try to hold back my tears, but I lean into Cameron’s embrace anyway.  
“Shit.” Fisher sighs. “I wasn’t trying to be an ass.”  
“Well you succeeded.” Cameron snaps, rubbing his hands up and down my arms. I have to admit that I do feel better. I push away from Cameron and wipe once more at my cheeks.  
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” I insist but grab Cameron’s hand anyway and intertwine our fingers together. “But Brandon did _not_ kill Lindsey.”  
“Then who did?” Fisher asks.  
“We need to go to the crime scene.” I sigh.  
———  
**Cameron**

“Did I really have to sit in the back?” I grumble, crossing my arms. “And why couldn’t we just take your car, why’d we have to take a cruiser?”  
“Oh lighten up, Stud.” Kirsten shoots me a smile over her shoulder from the passenger seat. I swear Fisher is laughing.  
“Because if we arrive in a cruiser, the officers on duty likely won’t ask for you two to present badges to get into the building, which you both don’t have.” Fisher explains.  
“And I was _not_ going to sit in the back of the cruiser.” Kirsten perks up, seemingly much happier and less emotional now that we are away from Brandon and the precinct.  
“Oh sorry, I can’t hear you through this plexiglass barrier.” I say, tapping on the bulletproof window between us.  
“Hey, you’re lucky I didn’t handcuff you.” Fisher says, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. Thankfully it’s a short drive to the downtown office building from the police station. As soon as we arrive, I get out of the back of the police cruiser as quickly as possible. Kirsten laughs.  
“God, you’re crazy, no one thinks you were arrested.” She says, following Fisher towards the entrance of the building. I hurry to keep up with them. The two officers on duty simply nod at us and let us through the front door.  
“So what exactly are we looking for?” Fisher asks, hitting the button on the elevator. Once all three of us are inside, he pulls out three pairs of gloves and gives a pair to each of us before putting his own on.  
“I just…need to see where it happened.” Kirsten sighs, putting her own gloves on. “And this way I’ll be able to explain to you guys what really happened.” I offer a shrug to Fisher and we both follow Kirsten out of the elevator when it opens at the eighth floor. There are a few more officers on this floor as well as some employees that I recognize from the police file on the case. There had been statements for most of them in the main police file but I could see an officer sitting with a crying woman in one of the rooms off to the side and jotting notes down on a legal pad.  
Kirsten walks with a purpose to the back of the office and down the narrow hallway, not needing to be told where to go. Fisher stops to talk to a few of the cops who seemed ecstatic at having a detective as accomplished as him at their crime scene. I follow Kirsten a few paces behind, happy to let her do what she needs to do.  
“This is where Lindsey and the other assistant, Mark, worked.” Kirsten explains, walking into a large office at the end of the hallway. There are two desks facing each other on opposite sides the large brown door which leads to, what I assumed is Brandon Young’s office. While there is police tape hanging loosely around the handles on the office door, the secretary’s office seems at large undisturbed. Kirsten immediately goes over to Lindsey’s desk on the right and starts opening the drawers.  
“Watcha doing, Stretch?” I ask, following her over.  
“I’m looking for something the officer’s missed.” She sighs. “It’s fine, I’m wearing gloves.” She holds up one of her hands and wiggles her fingers at me. I glance over her shoulder and into the drawers. Nothing looks suspicious to me. It looks like there is just office supplies, granola bars, lipstick, and a pair of ballet flats. Kirsten gives up on the drawers and starts looking on top of her desk. She reaches forward and picks up the only picture frame on Lindsey’s desk. It has a photo of Lindsey and three other girls. They’re sitting at a kitchen table with Christmas sweaters on and there is snow falling out the window that is behind them. It definitely wasn’t taken in Los Angeles. Kirsten goes to put the picture frame back on the desk but something shifts in the frame.  
“Hold on.” I say. “Let me see that.” She passes it over to me and I open the back of the frame. Sure enough, there is a second picture behind the first. It’s of Brandon and Lindsey standing in front of a bar with their arms around each other. “This is from Bar Louie.” I say, recognizing the place immediately. “It’s a really exclusive restaurant a few blocks over.”  
“Huh.” Kirsten mutters, looking the picture over. “Obviously she couldn’t have pictures of her and Brandon on her desk because of the no dating rule. Maybe she was just compromising?”  
“That’s really sad.” I decide, putting the frame back together and setting it back down on the desk.  
“There’s nothing here, let’s check in Brandon’s office.” Kirsten says, walking away from the desk and towards the door. She opens it and I quickly follow. The room still has a metallic, blood-like smell to it and, as we step completely into the office, I see why. Lindsey’s blood is still smeared and sitting in pools on the ground near the large window. There are small, folded note cards with different numbers placed in various places throughout the room, indicating places where the cops have deemed there to be a clue or point of interest.  
“Oh god.” I mutter.  
“I guess it’s still an active crime scene.” Kirsten says softly, walking closer to the window and looking out. I step away from the blood and head over to Brandon’s desk, picking up his only picture frame to test a hunch. The picture is of him and what looks to be his brother, both dressed in expensive looking suits. I pull the back of the frame away and, sure enough, there is a second picture behind it. The same photo from Bar Louie that was in the frame on Lindsey’s desk.  
“I guess that’s kind of romantic, huh?” Kirsten asks, coming up beside me and leaning her head on my shoulder. “Sad but romantic.”  
“Yeah.” I sigh, starting to put the photo back in the frame.  
“What are you guys doing?” A voice asks, peaking into the room. We both look towards the guy. I recognize him from the employee manifest but can’t place him.  
“Mark.” Kirsten greets, clearly knowing exactly who he is. _The other secretary._  
“Uh, yeah?” The man says uncomfortably, glancing around the office, his eyes pausing on the pools of blood.  
“We’re with the police, can we ask you—” Kirsten starts.  
“I’ve already given my statement to the officer in charge.” Mark says sharply walking back out of Brandon’s office and into his own area. Kirsten and I immediately follow him out.  
“We just want to know if you can think of why someone would want to do this to Lindsey.” I ask.  
“Lindsey an She asks, clearly not believing him.  
“Yes.” He snaps but then takes a deep breath to calm himself. “Like I told the other officer, you guys should really be looking into Brandon Young, our boss. They were hooking up, really casual, and he didn’t take it well when she ended things. Lindsey just wanted to move on with her life, but Brandon couldn’t deal with that.”  
“The police are looking into him as a potential suspect.” I say suspiciously, knowing that what Mark has said is not true based on Kirsten’s stitching. Mark nods his head and picks up a suit coat that is hanging on the back of his desk chair.  
“Well I have a second job to get to, I was just coming for my jacket.” He explains, heading towards the exit. “I hope you catch the guy who did this.”  
“He’s… _weird_.” I offer, giving Kirsten a look.  
“Lindsey and him were definitely _not_ best friends.” She insists, glancing at the open doorway. “Come on, let’s go see if Fisher’s come up with anything.” Back in the lobby of the firm, Fisher is simply leaning against the front desk and talking with the officers on duty who don’t seem to be doing much work.  
“Find anything?” He asks as we approach, waving the officers away.  
“Enjoy your five minutes of fame?” Kirsten counters, rolling her eyes.  
“Does anyone know how to use this thing?” One of the officer’s call, hitting some buttons on the shredder sitting next to the front desk.  
“Here.” One of the women says, handing over an office badge. “The firm has these ridiculous shredders that only the person in that department can use by swiping their badge. It’s supposed to prevent us from shredding any documents by accident but it’s really just a pain in the butt.” The officer swipes her card and puts in a piece of paper. The shredder buzzes to life and Kirsten gasps, grabbing my arm.  
“Cameron!” She whisper-yells. “That’s the buzzing sound from the stitch after Lindsey was murdered!”  
“Is there one of those shredders in Brandon’s office?” I ask the woman quickly before she can walk away.  
“No, but there is one just outside the door in Lindsey and Mark’s office.” She explains. Kirsten and I quickly look at each other with wide eyes.  
“Who has access to it?” Kirsten asks in a rush.  
“Just Mark and Lindsey…” She says.  
“Where did Mark go?” Kirsten asks Fisher, glancing around the lobby.  
“The other secretary?” Fisher asks. “He left just before you guys got here. Why?”  
“Mark killed Lindsey.” Kirsten states.  
“How sure are you?” Fisher asks skeptically, already reaching for his walkie talkie.  
“One-hundred percent.” She answers with no hesitation. Fisher pushes the button on his walkie talkie.  
“I need units on the ground to stop a suspect. Six foot, Caucasian male, late twenties, wearing a suit but holding the sport coat.” Fisher speaks into the device.  
“Suspect spotted.” A voice crackles out of the speaker a few seconds later. Kirsten and Fisher both glance at each other before taking off sprinting out of the lobby and down the stairs.  
“Okay, bye, guys!” I call, walking at a slower pace and instead hitting the elevator button, deciding my heart will thank me for not running down eight flights of stairs. When the elevator door finally opens on the main floor, the two officers that had been standing at the entrance of the building are wrestling Mark into the back of Fisher’s cruiser. Fisher and Kirsten are standing off to the side, both breathing deeply.  
“Thank you for not following us down the stairs.” Kirsten says as I near her, reaching out and intertwining our fingers together. “You’re not supposed to put strain on your heart.”  
“But what about him?” I ask, nodding towards Fisher. “He’s the one who took two bullets to the chest.”  
“Yeah, well you’re the only one that actually died.” He counters back. Kirsten flinches and I squeeze her hand in response.  
“Touché.” I agree. “So why do you think he did it?”  
“Don’t know.” Fisher says, shrugging. “Listen, can you guys call either Camille or Linus to pick you up? Unless if Cameron wants to sit in the back with Mark.”  
“I would rather walk, thank you.” I say. Kirsten let’s out a laugh.  
“Yeah, we’ll call Camille to pick us up.” She says. “Will you call us when you know anything?”  
“Of course.” Fisher says, walking away from the two of us. He pauses in front of the cruiser and glances back over at us. “Oh, and good work today.”  
———  
**Kirsten**

“Is it… _okay_ that I spend the night here?” I ask later that evening, perched on the edge of Cameron’s bed. Cameron’s already taken out his contacts and is leaning against the pillows with his glasses on and typing on his phone.  
“Well I’ve already taken out my contacts so I’m not going to drive you back to your house _now_ if that’s what you’re asking.” He says, glancing up from his phone.  
“No, that’s not what I mean.” I sigh, climbing under the covers next to him. “I mean is it alright with you that I’m here. I’m not, like, intruding or anything?”  
“No, you’re not intruding.” He says, putting the phone down. “I told you if you wanted to stay here, you could stay here.”  
“Okay, good.” I respond, cuddling into his side. “It’s just that Camille said I may have outstayed my welcome.”  
“Well, it’s not Camille’s apartment.” Cameron points out, wrapping an arm around me and placing his lips against my forehead. It leaves me feeling all tingly inside and, not for the first time since I saw the kiss between the two of us in his mind, I wonder what it’d be like to kiss him and remember it. “How are you feeling?”  
“I’m fine.” I say automatically.  
“Don’t B.S. me, I’m being serious.” He insists. “If you’re going to sleep in my bed then no lies.”  
“It was…a lot of emotions for one day.” I compromise. “But I feel better when I’m with you.”  
“Yeah?” He questions, sounding surprised.  
“I’m not here just for your comfortable bed, although that _is_ a nice perk.” I mumble into his neck, completely content.  
“So does that mean it doesn’t…hurt as much to be around me or see me or whatever?” Cameron asks. I pull back a little so I can see him.  
“Honestly?” I say. “I think it hurt so much from _not_ being near you. I was trying to ignore you or leave you alone or whatever and I think that’s what was making me feel so bad. I mean I could stay away from you if you’d like but why would I want to?” I let that question hang in the air between us for a few moments. Cameron looks perplexed but I was just being honest. My cell phone ringing breaks us away from our staring contest. I roll away from him and reach for the phone on the nightstand table. “Hey Fisher.”  
“Hey.” He greets. “You with Cameron?”  
“Yeah, hold on, I’ll put you on speaker.” I say, pulling the phone away and turning the speaker on. “Okay, what do you know?”  
“So apparently Mark was a bit obsessed with the victim. He worked part time at this restaurant downtown, Bar Louie—” Fisher explains. Cameron and I both exchange a glance.”—Anyway, he saw Walsh and Young out together and was very jealous of the two of them. I had some guys go through the shredded paper in Lindsey and Mark’s office. Luckily there wasn’t a lot in there. Apparently Lindsey had drafted a resignation later, that’s what she was leaving on Brandon’s desk with the post it note.”  
“I’m sorry.” I repeat the words on the post it note, understanding for the first time what they meant. “I’m sorry I waited so long to quit.”  
“Exactly.” Fisher agrees. “Apparently she had gotten a new job at a local hospital at the front desk. She had told Mark that afternoon she was quitting and he followed her back to the office and killed her. He spilled the entire thing before his lawyer even got there.”  
“That’s… _horrible_.” Cameron sighs.  
“At least we caught him.” I remind them both and myself.  
“I meant what I said earlier, you guys did good today.” Fisher says. “It wasn’t the _worst_ thing having you help.”  
“Is that, dare I say, a _compliment_ from Detective Quincy Fisher?” Cameron gasps is fake shock. I laugh and bump shoulders with Cameron.  
“Do we have another body already, Fisher?” I ask. “Because I really just want to go to sleep.”  
“No body yet. You know, the last time I asked if the two of you were together, you brushed me off and said it was ridiculous but…” He trails off and I can hear the smile in his voice. I glance over at Cameron who is turning a bright red shade and trying unsuccessfully to hide it. The look on his face has me struggling not to burst out laughing.  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Fisher, I just happen to find Cameron’s snoring very calming.” I quip.  
“I don’t snore!” Cameron gasps, this time bumping shoulders with me.  
“I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” Fisher says in closing. “Night.”  
I hang up the phone after we say our goodnights and plug it in to the charger on my side of the bed. Cameron does the same on his side of the bed and flips the lamp off before laying back down and letting me get comfortable against his chest.  
And I swear, even without temporal dysplasia, I would feel like I had been doing this my whole life.


	4. Chapter 4

**Cameron**

I was tired from laying up in bed all night thinking about Kirsten and trying to decipher every little thing she did. She had been playing house with me for the past week and a half, coming home with me after work and siting at the counter while I cooked us dinner, drinking my milk straight from the carton, and cuddling up to my side every night — even though she insisted that she did  _not_  cuddle. But yesterday, when I was finally getting used to this routine, she informed me she was staying at her house that night and Camille would drive her home. I had racked my brain, trying to figure out what had set her off and why she was acting weird. The only thing I could think of was that she hated chicken saltimbocca which I had suggested making for dinner that night. I  _knew_  I should have suggested the marsala instead.

I push the button on the elevator to the lab and rub my eyes a few times, willing the sleep to leave them and to make myself look completely well rested for when I see Kirsten who, no doubt, has not even noticed a difference spending the night without me.

"Well there's my favorite boy-toy!" Camille trills, greeting me at the elevator. I'm surprised when she loops her arm through mine and starts pulling me towards my desk.

"What's up?" I ask.

"She had a rough night so you better be extra nice to her." Camille threatens through her teeth but her smile still remains completely in tact.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, not understanding. She lets go of my arm as we reach my desk and walks past it to Linus's station. I turn my attention to my desk, only slightly surprised to see Kirsten sitting in my chair tossing that stupid stone I had given her up and down and catching it each time. "Hey…" I trail off. She pauses and looks over at me. She has dark circles under her eyes and looks more detached than I've seen her in a while.

"Hey." She responds.

"Are you— what happened?" I ask, reaching my hand out towards her, letting it hover just above her shoulder for a moment, before pulling back.

"I'm fine." She states, but she stands up, puts the stone in her pocket, and wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me close. I slowly wrap my arms around her middle, confused as to what's going on.

"Are you mad at me?" I question, needing to know what I did wrong.

"What?" She asks, pulling back a little and finally sounding like less of a robot. "Of course not, why would you think that?"

"Well, I suggested saltimbocca yesterday and you just shut down so I wasn't sure…" I trail off, feeling kind of dumb. I have no claim on Kirsten and no right to even question why she didn't stay at my place last night. We're not dating, but for the past week I had felt that we were something more than just friends. Then again, it  _was_  Kirsten, so she might think that our relationship — or lack thereof — was something completely normal for individuals who are just friends.

"No." She sighs, shaking her head. "Camille was just being an ass and I took it out on you. Am I banned from your apartment?"

"Of course not. Actually…" I trail off and remove my arms from around her waist, reaching into my front pocket. "I was going to give this to you yesterday but…" I hold up a key to my apartment that I had planned on giving her yesterday before she had started acting weird. She removes her arms from around my neck and takes the key, studying it with the criticalness that only Kirsten seems to possess.

"A key…to your apartment?" She guesses, raising an eyebrow at me.

"Well, yeah, I just thought if you were going to be around a lot you'd like a key." I explain. "But if you think it's stupid—"

"I love it!" She lights up, for a moment looking like she got a good nights rest and not like a tired zombie. She throws her arms back around my neck for a second time in a very un-Kirsten-like fashion, considering we're in a very public place. I had gotten used to the closeness when we were at my apartment, but she had kept our closeness in public to just handholding. Nonetheless, I wind my arms back around her and enjoy the moment. "Thank you." She murmurs in my ear.

"You're welcome." I say softly, feeling much better than I had a few minutes ago. She pulls back completely and puts the key in her pocket with the stone and grabs my hand. "Now tell me what's wrong, why do you look — no offense, but you look terrible."

"I just…didn't sleep well last night." She sighs, averting her eyes. "I have… _nightmares_ …I really don't want to talk about it." The pained look on her face makes me pause and I decide not to press it for now.

"Aw, happy to see you guys made up." Camille smiles, skipping over, Linus following close behind.

"We weren't fighting." Kirsten and I say at the same time, although Kirsten sounds mad and irritated while I just sound defensive.

"Do we have a body?" Kirsten asks, glancing over at the empty corpse cassette. "Should I change?"

"No body today." Maggie says, walking down the steps. "Most of you are very behind on paperwork and I am receiving pushback from higher ups. Today is a beautiful day for you to catch up and submit all those briefings from past cases." She glances pointedly at our group but I know she isn't talking about me. I always submit my case reports on time. There are a few sounds of displeasure from some of the other stitchers agents, specifically Tim and Chelsea.

"Why do we even have to write briefings, we stitched, we caught the killer, that's it." Kirsten groans.

"Because," Maggie explains walking over to us. "It is important to file all our cases and keep a record so we can look back on them if we need to. Kirsten, you are four cases behind. If I didn't know you had a photographic memory, I'd be worried you'd forget which case was which. Cameron, of course you are up to date with all your cases."

"Of course." I echo and Kirsten shoots me a look, rolling her eyes.

"Linus, you're only two behind, it shouldn't take you too long." Maggie continues. "And, Camille, I've actually had a request that you provide less detail in your reports. What shoes you were wearing while Kirsten stitched is not relevant to any of our cases."

"Of course my shoes are relevant!" Camille gasps in mock hurt…or maybe real hurt, it's hard to tell. Maggie rolls her eyes but I can see a hint of a smile on her face. Sometimes I think she hates working with us, but other times I think she actually likes us.

"Get those reports done and you can leave." Maggie concludes, heading past us and back towards the elevator where Fisher has just walked in, two cups of coffee in his hands.

"Come on, I'll help you." I concede, making Kirsten smile again. She lets me pull her into the conference room and we claim the couch, making Camille and Linus sit at the table.

* * *

**Kirsten**

I run Camille and mine's conversation from the day before over and over in my head and wonder, not for the first time, if I am a terrible person.

_"So, are you and Cameron officially dating yet?" She had asked yesterday in the locker room._

_"We're just friends." I said cooly, wondering if she was just trying to pick a fight with me. She was doing that more often than usual as of late. It wasn't that I hadn't thought about being more than just friends with Cameron or that I didn't want to, it was just that it seemed incredibly underwhelming to describe Cameron and me as "dating" or "together". Cameron made me feel like a real person and he didn't treat me like an emotionless robot. He made me feel…human and that made me incredibly sad that I needed him to feel that way. I didn't think I could give him what he was looking for in a relationship. I didn't think I could be the girlfriend he would want so it would be selfish of me to try._

_"Well, if you two are going to deny your feeling for each other for the rest of your lives then you should probably quit with the sleepovers." She sighed, opening her locker and gathering her things._

_"Camille." I replied with clenched teeth. "I told you already, Cameron said I wasn't intruding and that it wasn't a problem for me to stay over." I slammed my own locker shut a little harder than necessary._

_"And I'm not denying that he said that but it's unfair to him. How could he ever get a girlfriend and move on from you if you're staying over every night?" Camille asks, shutting her own locker. Chelsea and Alex both walked into the locker room and head to their respective lockers on the opposite wall from us. Camille lowered her voice dramatically. "All I'm saying is that no girl would want to be with a guy whose having sleepovers with another girl. It's incredibly selfish of you."_

_"If Cameron wants to date someone or have sleepovers with other girls he can, he knows that." I explained, but my confidence in the situation had wavered slightly._

_"Well he's not going to if you're in the picture." She sighed._

_"God, Camille, just leave me—"_

_"You have to know how he feels for you." She continued. Of course I knew, I had been in his head for god's sake. I didn't just know_ how _he felt for me, I had_ felt  _his feelings for me. "You're leading him on and it's not very nice."_

_"I'm not—" I insisted but paused. Was I? I wasn't trying to. But I did feel like I had this claim on him for no reason and I didn't want him having sleepovers with other girls. It hurt to picture him doing the things we did together with other girls. "Fine, fine. Wait for me in the parking garage. I'll tell him I'm staying at my place tonight."_

_"Kirsten, that's not what I—" Camille had started to say but I had left her to go find Cameron._

I knew I was being selfish, but it didn't seem fair to believe something so wrong by Camille's standards could feel so right. I inch over to Cameron's side and lean against his shoulder now that Camille and Linus are finally gone. He wraps an arm around me and let's me situate myself against his chest. The rhythmic beating of his heart calms me. I swear I could fall asleep.

"How long do you think it will take Camille and Linus to come back with dinner?" Cameron asks, his left hand drawing patterns on my arm while his right types in my briefing log pulled up on his tablet.

"Probably not for at least any hour." I sigh. "I'm sure they'll get distracted by  _something_  and forget about us."

"Can you remind me which stupid and reckless thing you did during this case?" Cameron asks, gesturing to the case report.

"I'm insulted you don't remember."

"I definitely blocked it from my memory."

"Please don't make me keep doing this." I sigh, burying my face in Cameron's neck and stifling a yawn. We were almost done with my third report. We should have been done hours ago but Camille, Linus, Cameron, and I had spent a majority of the day just talking and procrastinating in the conference room. And we had taken a particularly long lunch break upstairs in the Chinese restaurant. Linus had finally finished his last report and him and Camille had suggested picking up dinner and bringing it back to the conference room.

"Why don't you take a nap?" Cameron suggests, taking my tablet from my hands. "I'll try to work on this the best I can and then you can fill in the blanks later."

"No, no, it's okay. I can stay awake." I promise.

"I know you can, but you don't have to." He says. "You're exhausted, just take a short nap. I'll wake you when Camille and Linus get back."

I reluctantly shut my eyes and force my body to completely relax against Cameron. It's harder to do than it is in his apartment, knowing that anyone could walk in at any time. Still, I'm surprised that I feel my self drifting immediately.

* * *

**Cameron**

"You know," Camille says walking into the conference room. "I didn't understand but now I do." I immediately shush her, acutely aware of Kirsten's even breathes against my neck.

"Sorry." She whispers.

"Understand what?" I whisper back.

"I want to be clear that I wasn't trying to keep you guys apart or whatever. I am actually a big supporter of Camsten." Camille vows, putting the bags of takeout on the conference table and holding her right hand over her heart in sincerity.

"Camsten?" I echo, scrunching up my nose.  
"Yeah, you know, Cameron and Kirsten?" She explains, sounding annoyed. "Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I only told her she should keep some distance because I don't want her to hurt you."

"Hurt me?" I question. "Camille, we're both adults. And it's not like that."

" _Not like that_?" She deadpans. "Do you  _see_ how you guys are sitting?"

"I just mean—" I start.

"Can she stay at your place tonight?" Camille interrupts, hopping up to take a seat on the edge of the conference table, letting her legs dangle over the side.

"If she wants to, she can." I say, glancing down at Kirsten. She looks so peaceful, now that she's asleep.

"Good, because I didn't sleep last night either." Camille sighs, pulling the boxes of Italian food out of the bag and putting them on the table.

"Because of her…nightmares?" I clarify, still perplexed as to why Kirsten's never mentioned them before.

"Yeah, it was actually nice when she was staying at your place but, man, last night was the worst." She says, dipping her finger in what looks like Alfredo sauce and licking it. "Is it bad at your place?"

"No." I answer honestly. "I don't think she has them with me…"

"Really?" She asks, sounding surprised. "Then I get why she wants to stay with you."

"You mean it's not my good looks?" I ask in mock seriousness and Camille cracks a smile.

"Was that an attempt at a joke?" She questions. I roll my eyes and ignore her, continuing to type on the tablet.

"Where's Linus?" I wonder, glancing towards the open door but trying my best not to jostle Kirsten.

"He's parking the car. The only open spot on the first floor of the parking garage was next to your car and I convinced him that with his horrible driving record, he probably shouldn't attempt to park next to your car, so I made him drop me off." She explains, hopping down from the table. "I'm going to get drinks from the break room. You should probably wake Kirsten."

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty, wake up." I say quietly, once Camille's out of sight, running my left hand up and down her arm. She opens her eyes and pulls away from me immediately, like she's been caught doing something wrong.

"I'm up, I'm up." She insists, still sounding tired but looking a little better than she had an hour earlier.

"Camille's just grabbing drinks and Linus should be here in a sec." I explain, letting her get up and walk towards the food.

"This smells so good." She says, opening up two of the boxes before finding her shrimp scampi. She takes a seat at the table before turning back to me. "What?" She asks and I realize I am staring at her.

"Nothing." I say quickly, getting up and finding my own food, taking the seat to her left.

"I had to park all the way on the top floor of the parking garage." Linus proclaims, walking into the room. He makes a beeline to the table and grabs the box that Camille had been sticking her finger in. He brings it to the other side of the table and takes a seat across from us. "You're lucky I value our friendship enough to not hit your car."

"Thanks." I roll my eyes. Camille comes back in with bottles of water and passes them out.

"I can't believe we managed to spend the entire day here doing nothing." She says, grabbing her own and food and taking the seat next to Linus.

"Hey!" Kirsten pipes up. "My briefings are almost done!"

"Uh, yeah, because of me." I remind her. She grins at me and leans closer. For a second I think she's going to rest her head on my shoulder, but instead she spears a piece of my chicken with her fork and pulls away. "Hey!"

"I am eternally grateful for you  _and_  your meal choices." She states, taking a bite of the chicken. I can't even be annoyed with her. I'm so whipped and we're not even together.

* * *

**Kirsten**

"Are your nightmares about me?" Cameron comes right out and asks me later that night in bed. I had just gotten out of the shower and I could tell Cameron was in a serious mood but I had ignored it, hoping he would let whatever was on his mind go.

"Yes." I answer. "I see you flatlining over and over again." There's no point in lying to him. He flinches at my answer and wraps an arm around me.

"I really did a number on you, huh, Stretch?" He asks. I don't answer and, instead cuddle up against him.

"I don't have nightmares when I'm here." I explain. There's just something about knowing Cameron is only inches away that lets me sleep through the night, nightmare free.

"I think…you need to talk to someone." He says slowly.

"I talk to you." I answer, angling my head to look up at him.

"If I'm the problem in your life, then you can't talk to me about that." Cameron says quietly.

"You're not  _the problem_." I shove him, sitting up in bed. He sits up as well but leaves the lights off. "And what am I supposed to do? Tell some shrink that I see dead people?"

"The NSA has therapists that you're allowed to talk to." He explains calmly. "I wasn't trying to hurt you when I did what I did." Cameron's told me this so many times but it doesn't help and it doesn't magically fix everything. And I'm _better_ , I really am. I'm better when I'm with him and I know he's okay. When I can see him not flatlining and when I can feel his pulse, I am calmer. He is worried about me when I stitch but I am worried about him all the time. Worried that he will do something stupid for me or because of me. I can't have another person's death on my hands, especially someone as important as Cameron.

"I talk to you when it counts." I explain. "I've never been as open with anyone than I am with you. I'm not going to see a shrink. Ed made my go every week for ten years after the accident and it didn't help me at all." I lay back down, a little farther away from him on the second pillow.

"You won't talk to me about what you saw in my head." He says, laying back down.

"I told you what happened in the stitch." I remind him, but I know he sees through it, like he always does. "I saw you walking into the restaurant but the license plate was blurry."

"I don't believe you that, that was all you saw." Cameron answers. I shut my eyes and debate telling him that I really saw how much he loves me, but I'm not ready. As soon as I tell him, I have to be prepared to answer his inevitable question: Do I love him back? Or, worse, he's going to say that he's changed his mind about me. "Maggie wouldn't let me see the tape from that day but I talked to Camille. She told me how the controls went crazy during the stitch and she had no control over them."

"They didn't go out of control." I say, opening my eyes and turning on my side to face him. He mimics my position and I can see him giving me a questioning look in the dim light. " _You_ were controlling the stitch. It was your mind Cameron and you were showing me what you wanted me to see."

"I don't want to fight with you." Cameron finally says after a long time. I close the distance between us and lay down in my usual position against his chest. "I'm just worried."

"You're always worried." I mumble.

"One of us has to be."

* * *

**Sorry this took so long to get up! I've actually been writing things that** **happen later in the story (I have about 10,000 words of later chapters written...I know I'm so bad!) But either way, I hope enjoyed this chapter! XO**


	5. Chapter 5

**Cameron**

“This is absolutely adorable, really.” A voice squeals and Kirsten and I simultaneously groan. “I mean I knew you guys were having sleepovers every night, but in the same bed and all cuddled up? This is just absolutely precious.”  
“Kirsten doesn’t cuddle.” I correct, yawning and reaching to grab my glasses so that I can properly see my new house guest. I fix them on my face and give Camille a weak glare. She’s leaning against my open door, smiling. “How the hell did you get into my apartment?”  
“I picked the lock, duh.” She says matter of factly.  
“Please let me go back to sleep.” Kirsten groans, into my neck, her lips tickling the sensitive area. I fight a smile and wrap my arm back around her, closing my eyes for just a second.  
“Camille!” I squeak in surprise as she pulls back the covers and climbs in the bed on the other side of me.  
“Kirsten is right, your bed is super comfy. Maybe we could all have sleepovers!” She suggests, flopping back on one of the pillows. “Hold up, are you not wearing pants, Dr. Goodkin?”  
“I’m wearing boxers, get out of my bed.” I snap and know I am turning a bright red. Camille laughs loudly and Kirsten finally pulls her head away from where she had buried it against my neck and props her chin up on my chest. “Oh my god, please tell me that’s you, Kirsten, who is stroking my leg.”  
“Nope.” Kirsten smirks. “Hi, Camille.”  
“So it’s okay if Kirsten strokes your leg but when I do it, it’s wrong?” Camille fake pouts. “What happened to equality for all?” Kirsten pats my cheek.“Oh lighten up, Stud, there are worse situations you could find yourself in.” Kirsten says, too cheerful for someone who was groaning about lack of sleep only seconds before.  
“Dude.” Linus states, walking into the room and munching on a box of Lucky Charms that Kirsten begged me to buy even though they are so bad for you and have not one bit of nutrition. But, hey, I’m a sucker for blondes. “I have totally had this dream before but Cameron was never in it.”  
“I swear to god, if you eat all the marshmallows I will kill you.” Kirsten proclaims, sitting up and climbing out of bed. She’s dressed like she always is at night, one of my t-shirts and just her underwear, my shirt stopping just after her butt.  
“So Kirsten is the one with no pants on.” Camille comments. “Hey!” She snaps at Linus who is staring shamelessly at Kirsten’s legs. “Eyes over here.” It’s the only thing Camille has done this morning that I support. I follow Kirsten and climb out of the bed, immediately grabbing a shirt to cover up my scar. I know Camille and Linus have seen it but I don’t want to remind them about the ugly mark. Kirsten shoots me a look but doesn’t say anything. She grabs some clothes from the drawer I had cleared for her earlier this week and heads into the bathroom to change.  
“I don’t appreciate you guys breaking into my apartment.” I say.  
“Kirsten does it all the time.” Camille points out, finally climbing out of my bed.  
“Kirsten has a key.” I respond, sorting through my drawers to find the clothes I want for the day. Everything in my apartment has become severely less organized since Kirsten basically moved in.  
“Well why don’t I have a key?” Camille asks, heading over towards Linus to get some Lucky Charms. He swings an arm lazily around her neck and tilts the box in her direction.  
“Because your not—” I stop.  
“Not what?” She asks innocently, picking just the marshmallows out of the box. Kirsten is not my girlfriend but she’s also more than just a friend and I don’t know how to explain that to Camille without sounding like a lovestruck fool. I give Linus a look as a silent plea to help me out.  
“Sorry, I can’t take you seriously with that whole Jimmy Neutron hairdo going on.” Linus laughs. I reach up and try to pat my hair down. Kirsten comes out of the bathroom dressed in leggings and a white t-shirt with a blue zip-up sweatshirt of mine layered on top.  
“Hey I was looking for that.” I sigh but am already reaching for a gray one instead, deciding that dressing comfy for the day would probably be the best option. “And that’s my toothbrush, again. Seriously, Stretch, yours is sitting right next to mine.” She seems unfazed and instead runs a hand through my hair to stand it up again.  
“You look fine.” She says, though it’s muffled since she’s brushing her teeth. I roll my eyes and follow her back into the bathroom. She spits into the sink and continues brushing.  
“You’re in a good mood today.” I observe, deciding that even though our peaceful sleep was interrupted by Camille and Linus, I’m happy if she’s happy. She spits one last time and rinses out her mouth.  
“Yeah.” She muses. “I guess I am, you didn’t snore last night.”  
“I do not snore! And please stop telling people that!” I gasp but she’s already laughing like it’s a joke I’m not in on. “If you didn’t insist with sleeping with your face practically on top of mine, you wouldn’t be able to hear me breathe and this wouldn’t be a problem.”  
“Are mom and dad fighting?” Camille calls from the other room. We both ignore her.   
“I’m kidding.” She promises. “You don’t snore, I just have way too much fun pestering you about it.” I roll my eyes. “Just shower, I’ll occupy the kids so you can have a few minutes Camille and Linus free.”  
“Thanks, Stretch.”   
I shut the door behind her and take a deep breath. It’s bizarre how that whole situation and interaction this morning seemed relatively normal. I turn the shower on and pull the shirt I had just put on, off. It was stupid of me to do that. Camille and Linus don’t care and if I can let the girl I am possibly madly in love with see my scar, what’s wrong with my two best friends seeing it? I put my contacts in before stepping into the shower and let the warm water run over me.   
I want so badly to ask Kirsten what is going on with us but I’m worried that it would ruin everything or worse, that she would make that confused face and ask what the hell I was talking about. I finish up in the shower and get out, drying off, brush my teeth, get dressed, and try to blow dry my hair a little so it looks more laid back and cool instead of like I was trying to copy Jimmy Neutron.   
Before I even leave my bedroom, I can hear Camille laughing. Her and Linus are sitting at my breakfast bar while Kirsten stands in front of it, a spoonful of Nutella in her mouth.  
“Uh oh, what’s wrong?” I ask, draping an arm around Kirsten, she wraps her free arm around my waist and leans into my chest.  
“They’re being mean.” She states. Camille is smiling happily, her eyes darting between the two of us. Linus is staring at Camille in a way I imagine I stare at Kirsten. He’s playing with the ends of her hair and his other hand is doing something under the counter that I can’t see and don’t want to see.  
“Why are you guys here?” I ask. “Maggie hasn’t called us in yet.”  
“I was bored.” Camille sighs as if that’s reason enough to do anything she wants. “Can we go to that coffee place on Sepulveda?”  
“Sure!” Linus exclaims, eager to please. I roll my eyes but glance down at Kirsten just as she finishes licking the spoon clean. She shrugs.  
“I mean it won’t be a kale smoothie made by you but…” She trails off with a smirk.  
“Hey!” I banter back. “Those are very good for you. You need something to balance out all the Nutella you eat, this is the second jar this week!”  
“Let me grab my shoes.” She ducks from under my arm and heads to the foyer. She slides her feet into her still tied sneakers and forces them all the way in. I grab the jar of Nutella seal it back up as well as the nearly empty box of lucky charms and put them back in the cupboard. She heads back over towards us, holding my sneakers in one hand by the laces and the spoon in the other.  
“Thanks.” I take the shoes from her and lean against the counter to put them on my feet. Unlike Kirsten, I actually tie and untie my sneakers before putting them on or taking them off.  
Opposites attract, right?

* * *

**Kirsten**

I settle into the stitching chair and take a deep breath.   
Riley Donovan, thirty-two, found strangled to death in her apartment. Her husband, Ryan, had been away on business and discovered the body late last night when he returned home.  
Camille’s words echo in my head as Cameron goes through his check list to stitch.  
“Princess?” He asks.  
“Yup.” I respond, shutting my eyes.  
“Three, two, one…stitch.” I can hear his voice clearly through the comm piece but I’m standing in an apartment. I glance around. Everything is extremely tidy.  
“This apartment is even cleaner than yours, Cameron.” I say.  
“My apartments only messy when you’re there.” He responds. “What else do you see?”  
“Riley. She’s sitting at the computer.” I explain, moving closer to her. “Ryan just walked in, this is before he left on his business trip, can you move me closer to the time of the murder?”  
“On it.” Linus says. I’m shifted to another memory.   
“Riley is standing in front of an apartment, I’m not sure if it’s her building or not. Apartment 1C?” I explain. Riley knocks on the door and a middle aged man with long hair opens the it.  
“Hi! My name is Riley Donovan from 4B, my husbands out of town and there’s something wrong with the faucet in our bathroom, do you think you can take a look?”  
The guy looks her up and down and nods his head yes, saying he’ll be right up.  
“If it’s her building then 1C is Jerry Delmar, the landlord.” Camille calls out. “Kinda scummy looking, long hair?”  
“That’s him.” I answer. The memory shifts a third time and I am back in the apartment.   
“Thank you so much for coming up here so late, I really appreciate it.”   
“Well maybe we can work out a way for you to repay me?”  
“I don’t know what you mean…”  
I watch as Jerry tries to lean in to kiss her. She pushes him away from her.  
“Jerry just tried to kiss her and she’s not interested…” I explain as I watch the situation unfold.  
“I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, I’m married, I just needed the faucet fixed.”  
“Kirsten, you need to bounce, you're too close to—”  
All of the sudden I can’t breathe and I’m choking and completely frozen.  
Jerry has his large hands wrapped tightly around Riley's throat and, like me, she is struggling to breathe.  
“Kirsten!” I can hear Cameron’s voice. I’m coughing and sputtering and trying to get some air into my lungs but I can’t make myself breathe.  
“Her heart rate is 115, cerebral temp 102.5!” Ayo yells from somewhere that is not the Donovan’s apartment.  
“Kirsten, Kirsten!” Cameron is repeating my name over and over and I can hear the panic in his voice. Camille and Linus are also saying my name and I hear Maggie mutter ‘shit’.  
“Can’t. Breathe.” I manage to gasp out, my lungs aching painfully. Suddenly I can feel a pressure on my face that is different from the iron grip around my lungs.  
“Don’t touch her!” That’s Ayo again.  
“You’re not actually there, you’re not actually being strangled, type in your pin code. Kirsten, you’re in the lab, you're not actually getting strangled. You can breathe.” I feel like I am going to pass out but try to focus on Cameron’s voice instead and manage to move my fingers to type in my exit pin code. I open my eyes, sitting up in the fish tank and finally manage to get a gasp of breath in. It hurts my lungs. I yank the monitoring cords off of me and struggle to climb out of the tank, still trying to breathe.  
“You’re okay, you’re okay.” Cameron repeats, letting me fall into his arms. I claw my fingers at my throat trying to remove hands that were never there and feel for bruises that will never appear. Ayo is standing right over us with an oxygen mask in one hand. “Just breathe.” He whispers and I remove my hands from my throat, instead wrapping them tight around him. Oxygen has never tasted so good.   
“Do you want the oxygen mask?” Ayo asks.  
“No.” I shake my head, my voice sounding scratchy. She puts a hand on my shoulder.  
“Let’s go get you changed and check your temperature again.” She suggests. Cameron keeps his arms around me and half drags me to the locker room. I’m happy to be away from everyone’s watchful eyes. I don’t want them thinking I am weak or incapable of handling myself in a stitch. Cameron forces me to unwrap my arms from him and sit on the metal bench in the center of the locker room. He crouches down in front of me and runs his fingers over my neck and jaw, checking for something, before settling his left hand to cradle my neck. He wordlessly holds his right hand out to Ayo who hands him the oxygen mask, connected to a small tank she’s carried back here.  
“I don’t need—” I start, the words coming out in a painful gasp.  
“Shut up, I won’t tell anyone you took the oxygen.” He snaps but I can tell he’s not actually mad at me by the way his fingers lightly stroke my neck. He gently holds the oxygen mask in front of my face. I breathe deeply and let my eyes close. I understand why people go to oxygen bars now. The pureness of this oxygen fills my lungs and makes me feel like I’m coming back to life.  
“Can I…” Ayo trails off and I open my eyes. She’s waving the wand-like thermometer to indicate she wants to take my temperature. I nod my head but Cameron makes no move to back away from me. She reaches over him and rests the tip of the wand on a few different places on my forehead. “Your temp is lowering, 100.2, you should be fine, but I suggest you get changed.”  
“Okay.” I say even though the mask is still blocking me and it comes out muffled. Already my throat doesn’t feel as scratchy, but it still hurts. Cameron pulls the mask back and lets me get up. I walk over to my locker and pull out my clothes from this morning before heading into the stall to change.  
“Thank you, Ayo.” Cameron sighs. I pull my clothes on as quickly as I can and am just putting Cameron’s sweatshirt on as I come out. I hang the cat suit in my locker and turn to face Cameron. He’s now sitting on the metal bench I was on. He’s leaning forward so his elbows rest on his knees and his face is buried in his hands.  
“Hey, don’t look so miserable, Stud. I’m fine.” I say as cheerfully as I can, trying to hide how shaken up I actually am. I drape my arms over his shoulders and press my face into the side of his neck. He lets out a shaky breath and leans back, bringing his hands up to rest on my arms around his neck.  
“You couldn’t hear because Maggie took her comm unit off but she was telling me to pull you. We’d already passed the two minute mark but she was telling me to pull you anyway and when I wouldn’t she was telling Camille to.” He explains quietly. “God, I could have—you could have—”  
“But you didn’t I’m fine, really.” I mumble into his neck, stifling the cough that threatens to come out. I pull away from him and straddle the bench he's sitting on, inching closer to him. He still looks miserable so I pull on his shoulder until he’s closer to me and press my lips to his cheek, letting them linger for a few seconds. “Come on, this is the easiest case ever. There’s no doubt in who the killer is, we’ll be out of here before lunch and then we can go watch Netflix all day in bed.”   
“Okay.” He finally responds. He’s perked up a tiny bit but still looks on edge. I lace my fingers with his and pull him up. For once I let him lead the way and stick close to his side instead of dragging him with me.  
“Oh my god, are you okay, Kirsten?” Camille asks. Her and Linus look absolutely stricken and had been whispering quietly at Linus’s desk before they spotted us. Maggie is standing outside the conference room, leaning against the glass while Ayo speaks to her. She’s nodding her head but staring right at Cameron and me.  
“I’m fine.” I respond in a monotone voice. “It happened, it’s over, I’m fine.”  
“Kirsten.” Linus says nervously, his eyes flittering over to Cameron’s then back to mine. “I know you said you didn't want anyone to know but I had to tell Maggie because she wanted to understand how this happened and I’m so sorry Kirsten, I didn’t think turning it up would cause that I swear.”  
“What are you talking about, Linus?” Cameron asks. I squeeze his hand tightly, he’s going to be so mad at me.  
“I asked Linus to turn up the feelings during the stitching.” I say as neutral as I can but there is a slight wheeze in my voice that makes me sound more feeble and less in charge.  
“You what?” Cameron all but yells. “What the hell, Kirsten!” He lowers his voice but the anger is still there.  
“I was trying to understand emotions better and, when that nob is turned up, I do and it’s easier for me to relate them to situations in real life.” I try to explain calmly.  
“Yeah, well thank god you’ll know how to feel if you get choked to death in real life.” He snaps sarcastically. I flinch and pull my hand out of his, crossing my arms.  
“Cameron…” Camille says in warning but she’s staring at the hurt I know is present on my face. I subconsciously reach up and rub my neck.  
“And Linus,” Cameron turns to take his anger out on his best friend. “How could you not tell me this! Stitching is dangerous enough. One wrong move and Kirsten’s dead and you want to make the risks worse!” Cameron’s whisper yelling which is almost worse than real yelling.  
“Hey!” Linus defends. “I didn’t know it could cause her to shut down! She told me she didn’t know what it felt like to be happy and that this would help her, what was I supposed to say?”  
“You say no or you say maybe we should check with Cameron.”  
“Hey—” Camille interrupts, putting one hand on each of their chests. “Cut it out boys. Kirsten’s right, she’s fine.” She looks pointedly at Cameron when she says that. “But Linus is going to turn that emotions nob back down to normal.” She glances to Linus who nods his head in defeat.  
“Conference room.” Maggie calls, pushing away from the spot she was leaning against. “Now.” I push past all three of them and head up to the conference room, sitting in my usual seat. The other three file in and sit in their usual chairs as well. “What the hell were you thinking?” She directs the question at me and I can tell how mad she is but I think I can also detect worry in her voice. I don’t answer, instead just cross my arms and wonder if it is as obvious to everyone else as it is to me that Cameron and I aren’t holding hands.  
“I’ll turn the emotions back down immediately.” Linus pipes up.  
“Uh, yeah, you will.” Cameron says, crossing his arms as well.  
“So you weren’t in on this little plan?” Maggie asks Cameron, sounding surprised.  
“Of course not.” He responds angrily. “I never would have okayed that.”  
“Okay.” Maggie sighs, suddenly sounding calmer than she did just seconds before. “Is it safe to say Jerry Delmar killed Riley?” She directs the question at me.  
“Yes.” I answer, surprised at how out of breath I still sound and feel.  
“How’s your throat?” She asks.  
“I’m fine.” I snap, but start coughing at the end which ruins my answer. I’m very aware of Cameron and how his body is angled towards me with his right hand hovering over my arm but carefully not touching me and I wonder if he will ever forgive me for going behind his back.  
“I think you should go home and get some rest, Kirsten.” She says and then glances over at Cameron. “You can—”  
“Yeah, I got it.” He mutters. I get up and head out the door, feeling annoyed, Cameron following close behind me.  
“You can just bring me home…to my house, I mean.” I clarify, waiting for the elevator doors to open.  
“Huh?” He asks, looking genuinely surprised.  
“You don’t have to babysit me.” I snap, walking in to the elevator and clicking the ground floor button. He follows me in, right before the doors shut.  
“I’m not babysitting you, Kirsten. I’m making sure you’re okay and that you don’t have any severe reactions to residual emotions.” He sighs. The doors open and we leave out the side door of the Chinese restaurant. “We can just sit in bed and watch Netflix like you said.”  
“You…still want to do that?” I ask quietly. The tenseness that had been in my shoulders slowly dissipates and I feel like I can actually breathe better now. “Even though you're mad at me?”  
“Of course.” He responds. “Kirsten, people can be upset with each other and still…still care about each other.” I pause mid-step at the edge of the sidewalk and turn to face him. He looks genuine and worried and the last of my irrational anger dissolves. I wrap my arms tightly around his middle and burry my face into his neck. He wraps his arms around me too and lets out a sigh.  
“So you’ll forgive me?” I ask.  
“Of course, I’m not even really mad at you…I’m just…I’m sorry that happened, okay?” He answers. “How’s your neck?”  
“It hurts.” I tell him truthfully. He presses his lips against the crook of my neck. It feels like a peace offering.  
“How about we go make you some tea with honey and you can pick the Netflix show?” He suggests, pulling back a little to look at me. I lift my head off his shoulder.  
“Or I can have hot chocolate with whip cream and I can still pick the Netflix show?” I suggest. He rolls his eyes but smiles anyway.

* * *

I cuddle up into Cameron’s side later that night, content with knowing that even if he’s mad, he’s still fine with me being there. I know I have to just tell him but I’m worried he’ll make fun of me. It’s ridiculous, really, this is Cameron. He’s not going to make fun of me.  
“I don’t want you to be mad at Linus.” I start.  
“I’m not mad— I mean, I am mad, just more so at the stitchers program in general and how dangerous it is for you.” He sighs. His left arm that is wrapped around me pulls me little closer. “I just don’t understand why you did it. I thought you hated feeling anything.”  
“It’s not that I hate it…it’s just that it’s different and it takes some getting used to. I’m just trying to be…better.” I try to explain, not even sure how to explain what I was trying to do.  
“Better?” He asks.  
“For…for you, Cameron.” Once that’s out, there’s no confusion as I quickly try to explain my rational. “It’s not fair for anyone, especially you, to have to deal with me when I can’t process how anyone around me is feeling or even what I’m feeling.”  
“You process feelings just fine!” Cameron insists. “And I’ll tell you if I’m feeling something you should know about.” He noticeably swallows. “Please don’t put yourself in anymore unnecessary danger. I don’t…I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” I nod my head in defeat.  
“I’m sorry.” I apologize. “Forgive me?”  
“Of course.” He sighs loudly. I feel like he wants to say something else but he doesn’t and I don’t want to ask what he’s feeling. 


End file.
